Boko Haram - Hunt the Leopard

In a moment of crisis, the wise build bridges and the foolish build dams.

Nigerian proverb

M onkeys called to one another from the trees past the high aluminum fence, crickets chirped, and other insects buzzed to the beat of Smile for Me by Simi from a distant radio. At 2208 the temp and humidity had dropped to a bearable ninety-two degrees Fahrenheit and eighty percent humidity as Crocker jogged around the AFSF (Armed Forces Special Forces) base in subtropical eastern Nigeria for the third time.

He recalled some of the facts hed gleaned from a briefing three weeks earlier at SEAL Team Six (DEVBRU) headquarters in Dam Creek. Nigeria was the most populous country on the continent of Africa with an estimated 180 million people. It was also mind-blowingly diversefive hundred different ethnic groups, three hundred languages, and more than ten thousand spoken dialects, according to the Ministry of Arts and Culture, and divided equally between Christian and Muslim. Christians dominated the south; Muslims in the north. Alive in practitioners of both faiths was an underlying loyalty to ancient tribal beliefs.

The area southwest of where he was now was home to the Yoruba ethnic group and the location of the ancient city of Ife, where, according to Yoruba mythology, the first human being, Oduduwa, climbed down from the heavens, threw a handful of dirt on the primordial ocean, and created life on Earth.

Everything seemed to hum around himthe earth under his feet, the air, the dark Prussian-blue sky.

Why is it that the world feels more vibrant and alive at night?

Its why hed always liked it best, all the way back to his shit-kicking, wild-riding teenage years in western Massachusettsgangs, fights, running from the cops, chasing girls. The freedom and danger.

He loved them both. That effervescence. That sense that everything was alive and changing constantly. And your actions, your thoughts, your mere presence played a small part in creating the future whether you were aware of it or not.

Faster!

As Crocker picked up speed, his left knee started to burn.

Arthritis caused by a buildup of uric acid, the team orthopedist had told him. Time to slow down and settle into an office job.

To which Crocker had responded, Not happening, Doc.

He ignored the painor weakness leaving his body, as he called itand kept running. He didnt want to think about time and possible ravages to his mind and body, or how he felt about his career after the nastiness that had gone down in Syria four months ago, or where he stood with his new friend Gayle, the widow of a SEAL friend, or Cyndi, who had called him unexpectedly hoping to rekindle their romance.

He wanted to keep pushing forward into new challenges, through additional barriers, always focused on his personal mission of fostering and preserving freedom and protecting the good and innocent. Tonight he couldnt resist thinking about one of them. The Frenchwoman, Sverine, who hed met in Kurdistan and had died in Raqqa, and the affection he still felt for her. A special woman, she possessed the best qualitieskindness, intelligence, inner beauty, courage, and a commitment to helping others.

Sverine, I miss you

He had failed to protect her. In fact, shed died thirty meters from where he was fighting, crushed under falling debris from a US drone attack.

Nor did he go back to try to rescue her. The circumstances in Raqqa had made that impossiblehe was injured himself, ISIS terrorists were on their tail in overwhelming numbers, he was carrying a young hostage he and his men had rescued. But the circumstances didnt serve to assuage his guilt, which twisted in his head.

Sweet SverineIm sorry.

He said it out loud as he ran, sweat running down his face to his chest, and tried to imagine what she would think of this part of Africa. Then he sensed an almost imperceptible pause in the insect cacophony from the trees beyond the fence.

He almost expected to hear Sverine speak to him. Tonight, in this exotic, life-affirming place, everything seemed possible, even communication from beyond the grave.

Instead the silence ended with the distinctive rat-ta-tat of an AK-47.

Crocker automatically stopped in his tracks and crouched low to the dirt. What the fuck was that?

Was the gunfire directed at me?

His focus sharpened and he scanned three-sixty. Trees, a fence, a flagpole with its green-and-white-striped flag, a cluster of barracks, a brick HQ building and canteen, several guard towers. The guards manning the tower ahead waited a half minute before they swung a beam across the tree line, but didnt return fire. Nor did the three boys kneeling outside the fence look up from the lizard they were playing with.

Their nonchalance didnt surprise him. Crocker understood that he was in a different country with people who played by a different set of rules. A strange corner of the planet, where it was hard to distinguish the terrorists from the local militiamen, tribal vigilantes, and armed farmers who patrolled the bush. The shots could have come from any of them.

After two weeks hed seen how locals seemed to take most things in strideeven the savage Islamic radical insurgency, Boko Haram, that operated with impunity throughout northern and eastern Nigeria, where he was now.

When no more gunshots came, Crocker swatted away the flying insects, wiped the sweat from his brow, tightened the laces on his Saucony Liberty ISOs, and continued running.

Welcome to the jungle, weve got fun and games

Axl Rose could have been singing about Nigeria.